


in the light i swear we will deny it all

by Jimcloud, spacejames



Series: ‘cause i am the lying man, and i have made you my next victim [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Head Injury, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Slow Burn, Terminal Illnesses, Trans Male Character, Trans Ouma Kokichi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25625779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimcloud/pseuds/Jimcloud, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacejames/pseuds/spacejames
Summary: Five times the killing game brought Momota and Ouma together, and one time they did it themselves.
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Series: ‘cause i am the lying man, and i have made you my next victim [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862599
Comments: 46
Kudos: 201





	1. meeting

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is a collaboration between me and the lovely [Jimcloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimcloud). all of momota's dialogue/action was written by me, and all of ouma's dialogue/action was written by jim. it was originally a roleplay that has been edited into a style that better suits a fic. we hope you enjoy!
> 
> (title is from "liar" by the arcadian wild)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a lovely start to a Saturday morning, Ouma thinks.

**i. ouma**

Well, this is a lovely start to a Saturday morning, Ouma thinks.

(Kokichi doesn’t actually know what day it is, and doesn't think he’s likely to get any hints from inside this stupid cage. Whatever. It's fine.)

He stalks his way across the courtyard, eyes open for any hints that might help him (or them, if Ouma’s feeling generous) out of this place. Much as he’s enjoying this little kidnapping and hostage holding day trip, it’d be even more fun if they escaped, Ouma thinks.

_Kokichi, if you can be honest with yourself anywhere, it can be here, can’t it. You can just admit you’re —_

This is fun!!! Exciting!!! Ouma can’t _wait_ to see why they were all brought together in this place!!! Nishishishishi.

While he’s scanning the area, he saunters around, lazily, face and posture seeming like he’s unbothered by all of this, because he _is._ Nothing helpful so far, but if anyone can find something, it’ll be him.

Supreme Leaders _live_ for this kind of stuff, you know.

… 

Ah, oop. Person at ten o’clock. From the looks of him, a teenager (tall, though, who gave him the right) with kind of an obnoxious hairdo and—

their _coat_ isn’t even _on_ right. Oh, lord, it’s a chuuni. He’s not even really _doing_ anything, he’s just got his hands on his hips, staring at that big old wall like it’s gonna bite hi—

Oh, wait. Wait, wait, _wait._ He hasn’t noticed Ouma yet. Hoo hoo _hoo._

Ouma slips around so he’s right behind this guy, quietly slipping closer. When he’s just about _right_ behind him, he cups his hands and yells, “ **HEY!** ”

“GAAH!”

This tall asshole practically _jumps_ out of his fucking skin, thank god. He whirls around, eyes wildly looking for the source of the shout, before they settle on Ouma. Seeming to relax a fraction, he splutters, “What the hell’s wrong with you?! Don’t just sneak up on someone like that, man!”

“I didn’t sneak up on you!” Ouma lies, grinning widely. “I was walking right up like a normal person, but you were _soooo_ caught up staring at that wall you didn’t even _notice_ me!” He huffs, pouting and shaking his head, the perfect image of someone exasperated. “I tried waving and everything, but you didn’t even blink.” Not that Ouma would have _seen_ Chuuni Man blink from behind him. He knows this. He is making this lie obvious on purpose. Time to see if this guy picks up on it. 

Holy shit, though. One, this man is wearing _three layers._ Two, one of the layers is _fucking galaxy patterned?_ Holy shit, holy shit, what is he, the fucking Ultimate Astronaut or something? At fucking sixteen? Get a load of _this guy._

Oh, also, three, he just spooked _really bad_ at that, oh my god. This guy might be funny to mess with after all.

He bristles. “How was I supposed to see you waving if you were walking up behind me?!” he demands—gee, defensive much? “A-and besides, even if I didn’t see you, there was no reason for you to yell like that!” He narrows his eyes a little, looking Ouma over.

Ouma gasps. “Oh, ya got me! _Actually_ I wanted to make sure you didn’t have eyes on the back of your head. Or secret robot functions like that other guy.” Not that his robot functions are _secret,_ but hey. “Now that that’s confirmed, we are _totally_ cool. Nice to meetcha!” Ouma grins, tilting his head childishly up at whoever this guy is. Time to play the innocent baby card. Surprisingly easy on first meetings. Gets harder after that, though. Weird!

Space Chuuni’s mouth twists in a brief frown, but it quickly clears. He grins right back, striking a dramatic pose, slamming his fists together in front of himself (get a load of _this_ guy). “Hell yeah it is! I’m Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars!” he announces. “Even crying children adore the Ultimate Astronaut!”

It takes every ounce of Ouma’s composure and then some not to laugh _right_ in this Momota guy’s face, _right_ this second. “ _Wooooooooow,_ really?” Ouma says, voice sounding awestruck, eyes appearing wide. “Even crying children? Has that happened a lot?”

Momota’s grin wobbles a bit, but he keeps it up, one hand on his hip, the other forming a fist. “W-well, of course! I’m famous, y’know? I’ve met tons of little kids who totally admired the Ultimate Astronaut! Isn’t it a cool talent?”

Oh, that’s the faltering voice of a _liar,_ Ouma thinks. “ _Really_ now? And are you _really_ the Ultimate Astronaut?” Ouma narrows his eyes at Momota, frowning. Ouma’s voice lowers. “I hate liars, you know.” It swoops back up to its normal tone with ease, and he puts a finger to his lips, grinning. “Anybody could say their talent was _anything_ in here, and we’d have _no choice_ but to believe them.”

Ouma pauses, his lips curling further up into a grin. “Or _test_ them, maybe.”

Momota’s expression flickers, twisting up a little. “What the hell are you saying, man? Of course I’m not lying! And what do you mean by _test?_ You better stop saying weird shit.” Momota squints down at Ouma, frowning. “What’s your name, anyway?” he adds.

“Oh, me?” Ouma’s grin turns into a childish smile. “I’m Ouma Kokichi!” He beams. “Ultimate Supreme Leader.” He looks away, investigating his nails instead of Momota, like his talent and this whole conversation is beneath him. “I just run a secret organization with over 10,000 members, that’s all.”

Momota’s eyes widen. “W-whoa, really? That’s amazing! You should be more proud of that!” He claps Ouma on the shoulder, smiling wide, and seems to miss the way Kokichi flinches, just the tiniest bit, at the touch. _He’s not supposed to do that._ “Don’t downplay your accomplishments!” When he finishes speaking, he takes his hand off of Ouma’s shoulder, and he can breathe easy again.

“Well, I think the reason for that is obvious, don’t you?” Ouma raises an eyebrow at Momota, smiling like none of that ever happened. “If I told _any_ schmuck on the street that, it wouldn’t be much of a _secret_ organization for long, now, would it? Good thing you’re not just _any_ schmuck.”

Momota tilts his head. “Huh. Well, when you put it that way, it makes sense.” He frowns a bit, glancing back over at the wall. “Hey, so, what do you think about all of this? It’s pretty weird, right?”

“Yep! Not my average Saturday morning, but they’re making it work!” Ouma lets out a little _nishishi_ laugh. “It smells to me like someone’s trying to make a _statement,_ and we’re their little setpieces. How exciting! I’ve never been someone else’s pawn before.”

… That’s a lie.

Momota gives him a weird look at that one. Warranted, Ouma supposes. “Dunno if ‘exciting’ is the word I’d use,” Momota says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh?” Ouma raises his eyebrows. “Were you thinking more _fantabulous?_ _Splendiferous?_ _Terrible?_ _Incredible?_ _Devastating?_ ” His face and tone changes with each word.

Momota scowls at him. “Don’t screw around! It’s just _weird._ But it’s nothing the Luminary of the Stars can’t handle!” he adds, grinning again, just like nothing happened. Good pretending game on this one. “I’m sure we’ll all find a way out of here before long!”

God, wow, hearing it a second time doesn’t make it any less Like That. The _Luminary of the Stars._ Okay, chuuni-looking ass. 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Ouma lies, casually gesturing to the side with a hand. “Got any ideas on how to make that happen?” Maybe, just _maybe,_ he won’t be _totally_ useless. He’s been out here longer. Maybe he has some useful intel _after_ all. 

There’s a quiet pause after that, made loud by Momota’s vague discomfort. Ouma doesn’t let up, of course, staring at him expectantly. _Fess up, space man._

“That’s not the problem!!” Momota finally says, a touch forcefully. “I bet once everyone’s investigated this place, we’ll all come up with a plan together! It might seem impossible right now, but I’m sure we’ll escape!” He winks at Ouma, giving him a thumbs up. “After all, the impossible is possible, all you gotta do is make it so!”

…

Alright, so Momota’s useless after all, just a bunch of empty platitudes. Good to know, Ouma guesses. It feels… impossible, almost (heh), to imagine anybody saying things like that with a straight face. He _sure is_ doing that, though. Unbelievable. 

“Big teamwork guy, huh?” Ouma asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course!” Momota huffs. “The most important part of being an astronaut is good communication. You gotta rely on your teammates! Which means we all gotta work together to get out of here!”

“I see.” Ouma puts a finger up to his mouth, smiling. “Well! The most important of being a _supreme leader_ is _leading._ ” He puts his grin on, instead. “Don’t suppose you’re ready to follow my commands, are you?”

Momota rubs his neck again, almost like he doubts Ouma! Weird! Unexpected! _Completely_ unwarranted, even! “What kind of commands? If you’ve got an idea on how to get out, then just spit it out already.”

Ouma scoffs, his voice going arrogant. “Of _course_ I don’t have an idea on how to get out. I only just got here. And it’s _obvious,_ from the design of this place, the work put into it, that whoever made the place most likely doesn’t have an _easy escape_ in mind.” 

If they have escape in mind at _all._

He smiles, childishly, up at Momota. “It’d take a _real moron_ to think a little elbow grease would outdo what looks like a project that took months or even years, don’t you think?”

A flicker of dread passes over Momota’s face (scared of the truth, Ouma guesses, _typical_ ), but it fades fast. “Don’t be so negative! The only limits are the ones we set ourselves, y’know? So if you say stuff like that, it’s only gonna make you believe it’s true!” He puts his fists together, puffing his chest out. “We had to have gotten in somehow, right? So that means there’s definitely a way out!” 

He pauses. Ouma can physically _see_ the gears turning in this poor, stupid man’s teeny little brain. 

“Hey, wait, what was that last part supposed to mean?! Are you calling me a moron?!”

 _Yep._ There _it is._

Ouma stares Momota down, and watches him shift uncomfortably under his gaze. _Good._ He knows just how wrong he _is._ “There’s not guaranteed to be a way out just because we got in, but even if there _were,_ there's no telling what we’ll have to do to get to it. We don’t even know _why_ we’re here, yet.” 

His gaze leaves, though, looking disinterested. This guy sure is excitable! Let’s see if Ouma can rile him up, just for fun’s sake. “Well, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Ouma lies, “but you know what they say about if you assume something’s about you, that probably says you think it?” He grins, still not looking directly at Momota. 

“I-I’ve never heard that saying before!” Momota stutters, sounding defensive again. Couldn’t be a more obvious lie if he tried, really.

“Oh, so do you have, like, a listening thing?” Ouma blinks, his eyes opening wide, his head tilting. His smile is innocent and childlike, and his tone is the same. It would be disarming, if you didn’t know him at all. Ouma suspects Momota knows him _just_ enough to know how wrong it is on his face. “That would explain a lot.” He titters out a little _nishishi_ laugh again. 

“Try and listen _this_ time, then, Momota-chan,” Ouma’s voice is a little taunting, staring up at the taller man (unfair he’s that _fucking_ tall, by the way). It goes low as his face falls. “You can talk big all you want about _teamwork_ and _friendship,_ but underestimating our enemy is a mistake you’d do _very_ well to avoid. You can’t just brute force something this well-made. It’s going to take care and cunning to put an end to this. So try not to get yourself hurt doing something you’ll regret, space man.”

With that, Ouma spins on his heels and walks away, leaving Momota staring after him.

 _Well,_ that _was a waste of time,_ Ouma thinks, _but fun, at least._

Ouma just hopes he doesn’t _actually_ have to lead these dumbasses, because even _he_ might be in over his head this time, let alone everyone else. Kokichi’s… not ready to have lives in his hands. No. Not here, not now.

Ouma will just do what he does best instead. He just hopes it’ll be enough.


	2. bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to good ideas, Momota’s gotta admit, hiding in the girls’ bathroom is maybe not one of them.

**ii. momota**

When it comes to good ideas, Momota’s gotta admit, hiding in the girls’ bathroom is maybe not one of them. 

Back pressed flat against the door, heart racing, sweat dripping down his jaw as he catches his breath, Momota reasons with himself that, despite it not being the wisest decision overall, choosing this as a hiding spot is actually a decent play. See, he figures Gonta is too much of a gentleman to check the girls’ bathroom for anyone who might be hiding from him—and honestly, good on him, Momota normally wouldn’t even _consider_ setting foot in here, but hey, desperate times, or whatever. So the odds of Momota being caught in here are incredibly low. 

Yeah, Momota thinks, hearing Gonta’s footsteps thunder past. These are definitely desperate times. The big guy’s gone crazy. 

Momota slumps against the door, pulse still rabbit-quick in his throat, and forces himself to wait several minutes before making a stealthy exit. By the time he eases the door open and sticks his head out, peeking down the hall for any signs of life, his heartbeat has calmed, though he’s still jittery with nerves as he creeps out of the bathroom.

“Why _helloooooooo_ there, Momota-chan,” a familiar voice lilts. “Didn’t know _you_ were a _deviant!_ How _exciting._ ”

To his credit, Momota doesn’t scream this time, but he does jump, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He whips around, slippers squeaking on the floor, just barely managing to catch the bathroom door to stop it from slamming. Heart thudding, he closes it, then straightens up, glaring at Ouma, who’s standing there grinning with a finger to his lips and a bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Jesus, Ouma, you scared the shit out of me,” Momota huffs, face burning as he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear as dignified as possible after just being caught sneaking out of the girls’ bathroom (which is to say, not very dignified). “And shut the hell up! S-saying it like that makes me sound like some kind of pervert!” He swallows hard. “You better not tell anyone ab—” 

Huh. Wait a second. Why is Ouma carrying a bag? 

“More importantly, what the fuck are _you_ doing?” Momota accuses.

“Oh, _my bad,_ Momota-chan,” Ouma coos, grinning, blatantly ignoring Momota’s question, “I didn’t think of any of the many, _many_ legitimate, non-perverted reasons you might be going into the girls’ bathroom, like,” he puts his hand to his chin, his sack swaying as he wiggles around a little, “ _hmmmm,_ let's see, boys’ bathroom fully occupied? No, can’t be, _hmmmmm,_ this is a real stumper, Momota-chan!”

Ouma stops, suddenly, his eyes brightening as his hand gestures in the air. “Wait, _I’ve_ got it! Nothing! There’s absolutely _nooooo_ reason for you to be in there,” he looks smug as he adds, “ _aside_ from deviancy crimes, of course.”

Momota’s face burns hotter, a flush creeping across his cheeks. God, Ouma is so _infuriating_ . “Sh-shut _up!_ ” he snaps. “I was hiding from Gonta, okay? He was chasing me around, and I panicked and ran into the g-girls’ bathroom.” Narrowing his eyes, Momota takes a step closer, gaze flitting down to the _highly suspicious_ bag in Ouma’s hand. “And you didn’t answer my question. What’s in the bag?”

Ouma makes a little _nishishi_ laugh. “Well, _yeah._ That was obvious. But, see,” he waves the bag around on his back to a heavy motion and the sound of something plastic knocking into each other, “you would _know_ what was in the bag if you’d just accepted his _polite_ party invitation, Momota-chan.” Ouma grins at him. “Instead, you were too busy indulging your weird creepazoid habits in the bathroom. _Too bad!”_

Momota frowns at him, very decidedly ignoring his words, gears turning in his head. “Are those the motive videos?” he demands abruptly, pointing at the bag. “What the hell are you up to? And how did you even get those?”

“Well, would you look at that!” Ouma gestures the bag dramatically in front of him. At the same time, he edges a step closer to the stairs. “I’m proud of you, Momota-chan! There really _is_ something rattling around up there in that skull of yours.” He grins widely. “ _Yep,_ these are the motive videos. It's a motive video viewing party!”

The thing is, Momota is pretty sure that Ouma calling him an idiot is one of the many, many tactics the smaller man uses to try to get a rise out of him. But he’s also pretty sure that Ouma genuinely believes Momota is stupid. It makes something hot and angry prickle under his skin; instead of trying to suppress it, Momota lets it simmer, glaring at Ouma as he continues with an innocent smile.

“I’m fostering _friendship_ and _teamwork,_ see. If we all see our motive videos, then we’ll all get to know each other better!” The smile falls to more of a pensive look, his free finger tapping his lip as he looks away. “Well, everyone who cooperated, anyways. Guess you’re more of a loner type when push comes to shove after all, huh?”

“We all decided that watching the videos was too dangerous,” Momota retorts. “Being forced to watch those videos is just gonna piss everyone off. Don’t even think for a second I’m gonna buy your bullshit lies about teamwork, Ouma.”

“Did we _really_ all decide that, though?” Ouma hums thoughtfully, again tapping his finger to his lips. “It felt to me a little like a _couple_ of people thought that, and everybody else just went along with it like sheep!” 

Ouma shrugs, slugging the bag behind his shoulders and spinning around with its weight. “Well, I think you’ll find that _everybody_ at the party is _very excited_ to watch the motive videos, actually,” he grins up at Momota, “and if you want to tag along, you can ask them yourselves when we get there! Or are you telling me _you_ don’t want to know what’s on _your_ motive video? It’s a little bit juicy, gotta say.”

…

Maybe it’s hypocritical of Momota, to act like this. Because he _would_ be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about the videos. About his own, in particular. But his loyalty to his friends comes first, and they all decided not to watch them for a reason. Momota’s not going to be selfish and betray them just because Ouma is standing here, taunting him with the opportunity and grinning like the devil. 

“Like hell I’m going with you,” Momota decides, shaking his head. He levels Ouma with a determined glare. “And there’s no way I’m gonna let you show everyone those videos.”

“ _Reeeeeally now,_ ” Ouma coos in a low tone, grinning, “there’s _no way_ you're gonna let me. None, huh? Not one.” He loosens one finger on his bag, pointing it up as he moves down fingers on his other hand. “So not murder, lying, threats, blackmail, _oho,_ blackmail, now isn’t that a _fun_ idea. You ever wonder why it’s called blackmail?” He looks up at Momota, an eyebrow raised. “First thing I’m gonna do when we get out of here is look up the etymology of blackmail.”

Momota blanches at the mention of murder—he wouldn’t, Ouma wouldn’t, neither of them would—but the knifelike twist of panic in his gut is quickly ignored. It won’t do to get distracted, here; Ouma always keeps Momota on his toes, and if he doesn’t pay attention, things could go south very, very quickly. 

Well. Further south than they already seem to be going. 

“Blackmail? The hell are you talking about?” Momota scowls.

Ouma tightens his grip back up on the bag again. He raises the index of his spare hand into the air. “See, I have a _great_ idea, actually, one that will let _both_ of us leave here happy.” He smiles up at Momota, his tone blunt and to the point. “It’s _real_ simple. Both of us leave and go our separate ways. And in _exchange,_ both of us pretend this never happened. Now, doesn’t that sound _nice?”_

Momota opens his mouth to reply. And then he closes it. 

Not because he’s searching for words—no, he knows exactly what he wants to say, and it’s to tell Ouma he can fuck right off with that blackmail shit. If he can stop Ouma from doing this, Momota doesn’t care if people know he was in the girls’ bathroom, Chabashira’s wrath be damned. It’s not because of that. 

It’s because there’s a tickle in the back of his throat. A cough. 

Momota swallows hard, hoping to quell the urge. It doesn’t quite work, not fully, anyway. He averts his eyes, brows knitting together, and lowers his voice to a mutter to hide the way it rasps slightly. 

“Fine.”

There’s a little pause. Momota’s eyes dart upward just in time to catch the genuine surprise that flickers across Ouma’s expression, and his own hardens in response, jaw clenched, eyes dark. He curls his hand into a fist at his side, nails digging into his palm.

“ _Weeeeeeell,_ ” Ouma drawls, after a moment, “it’s been awfully fun, Momota-chan, we should really do this _exact_ situation again sometime, but if that’s all agreed to then I think maybe we don’t need any more words, now, do we?” He lets out another of his stupid little horse laughs as he slowly starts to back toward the stairs.

“Damn right we don’t,” Momota grits out. “Get out of here before I change my mind.” It’s an empty threat and they both know it; Momota’s not going to give Ouma the satisfaction of backing down, and there’s not a chance in hell that he’s going to chase after him, not when there’s still that lingering feeling in the back of his throat, that chance he could cough.

“Oh, promise?” Ouma coos. “You’ll have to catch me if you want to change your mind, anyways!” He turns fully and speeds off and up the stairs, bag flailing behind him as he goes.

Dammit. It stings to let Ouma go so easily, and Momota half-wishes he _could_ chase after the little fucker, but… 

Once he’s sure Ouma is well and truly gone, Momota lifts his arm to his face and coughs quietly into the crook of his elbow. It only lasts a few moments, but it leaves his throat feeling a little scratchy, and there’s a knot of worry in the pit of his stomach that won’t go away. 

“It’s just a cough,” he mutters to himself. “It’s nothing. Get your shit together, Luminary.” 

With that, Momota heads off to his room to nurse his sore throat and his wounded pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one wasn't supposed to turn into angst i swear


	3. concussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha… Kokichi’s landed himself in a right mess this time, hasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the angst train
> 
> warning for, like, kokichi having a concussion. obviously

**iii. ouma**

Hahahahaha… Kokichi’s landed himself in a right mess this time, hasn’t he? 

A real dilemma. A problem area. A capital I fucking Issue, here. 

Uh huh uh huh uh huh yep yep. Sounds right. Checks out. 

See, Kokichi had to go… somewhere, to go do a thing, investigating, he was investigating—wait no he did that. After that is, oh! The fun part. He’s _missing_ the _fun part_ because he’s _bleeding from the top of his head._ Kokichi reaches a hand up to it. Warm and wet. Reminds him of home! If home was a mild to moderate concussion caused by hitting, uhhh, wood. A whole ass forest. Yeah. 

Hmm. These sure are stairs. Stairs look like fun. Maybe if Kokichi’s lucky he can get concussion 2! A two-pointer! Nobody’s ever had two concussions at once before! Probably.

…Huh? Is that Momota-chan? Wahey, it _is_ Momota-chan! “Ouma?” He asks, moving a little in Kokichi’s swimmy vision. “You good, man?”

Kokichi lifts a hand up to wave at him and almost falls off his feet. Haha, whoops. Momota moves real suddenly in his vision at that, almost knocking Kokichi off his feet again in surprise. He’s fast when he wants to be.

Kaito had a question, didn’t he? … Right! Right. Okay.

“Never better!” Kokichi chirps, his voice sounding kind of funky in a weird way. A not so great way. He laughs, and it’s not a _nishishi_ but a hysterical little giggle that rises and falls how it wants. “This is real blood, see?” He grins and holds out two bloody fingers for Kaito to see. “I tripped! Isn’t that neat?”

“Hey, take it easy,” Kaito says, and he, oh, his hands are on Kokichi’s shoulders, now. mmmMmMMmmmM. He sure is touching Kokichi. That's not… supposed to happen, but Kokichi can’t quite remember why right now. Maybe later. “Can you look at me?”

Kokichi’s eyes try to stare up at Kaito, but it’s not… quite so easy. They go up, but everything’s kinda… not really, staying where it goes, right now, and it’s nice that Kaito’s hands are there, because Kokichi doesn’t have to try so hard to keep himself facing a way, he just kinda. Goes that way. It’s neat.

“Stupid wood,” Kokichi mutters, stopping trying to keep his eyes on Kaito. “Outlawing wood when I own Japan. It’s hurt me for the last time.”

Kaito sorta… makes some kind of look for a couple of seconds, not really responding, like he’s thinking. Good look on him. Kaito should think more oft— _OH_ okay he’s in the air now, Ouma is in the air. His eyes dart around for a second, trying to figure this out, before settling on Momota as the likely source of the de-gravifying of this situation, since his arms are around Kokichi and all.

Hee hee. De-gravifying. That’s not a word.

Momota should really put Ouma down.

“Hey now, hey now, hey now,” Ouma says, voice unsteadier than he’d like, “don’t you have, like, a killer girlfriend or something? I think I need to see an attorney about this.”

“A k—” Aw, Momota can't even finish his thought, is he blushing? Kokichi _knew_ there was something going on there, nishishi. Wait, hey, they’re moving, what's going on here?

Momota clears his throat. “Look, just—I’m taking you to my room to treat your wound, okay? You can’t just walk into the trial with blood dripping down your face. You’re gonna scare the shit out of everybody.”

“It’d be _fun!”_ Kokichi coos. If they’re just going to treat his wound, it’s—fine. It’s probably fine.

Unless Momota’s lying. _Mmmm._

It’s probably fine. Kokichi can't make himself keep thinking about it, his head hurts.

Kokichi focuses on the conversation instead. “Just imagine! I walk in like, _surprise!_ It’ll be the best part.”

“Fun for _you,_ maybe,” Kaito mutters under his breath. Wow, their surroundings are changing really quickly. It’s kind of neat how the colors are shifting and going. Kokichi can’t quite pay complete attention to it, though, so he just keeps his eyes focused more on Kaito, as much as he can.

“Yeah, you get me,” Kokichi grins, “fun for _me!"_ The grin on his face falls. “Hey, Kaito-chan, do you wanna know a secret to having fun all the time?”

Kaito doesn’t answer for a second, busy opening a door, the little motion of him pushing the door feeling like a lot to Kokichi right now for some weird reason. It’d be funny if it didn’t make things move more.

… The sunlight kind of hurts.

“Mm?” Kaito hums as he starts walking them towards, uh, the dorms, probably. Doesn’t matter, Kokichi had a thing he was gonna say.

“See, the trick is,” Kokichi’s voice is steadier, now, because this is important, “when you’re in pain, all you’ve gotta do to have fun,” he grins widely, “is make a _game_ out of it. Today’s game is gonna be seeing how many people I can scare the _shit_ out of.”

Kaito stops moving so much, turning to face Kokichi, then. Hee hee. _That_ one must've gotten him. He doesn't speak for a few long moments, not until the dorms are already by, which seems to happen really fast for some reason. “That’s kinda fucked up, Ouma,” he finally says, as he opens the door.

Kokichi giggles at that response. “Well, yeah, Kaito-chan,” he says, grinning still, “you don’t get to be a supreme leader of evil by being a not-fucked-up person.”

Not that Kokichi really is a supreme leader of evil.

… 

(Keep _that_ one _well_ under wraps, Ouma.)

Kaito doesn’t seem to pay it much mind, at—ah, great, stairs again, ow, okay, cool, okay. Okay. He seems busy staring at a door for some reason, not really sure wh— _oh._ He moves Kokichi so he’s pressed against his chest with one hand, his legs dangling in the air. Kokichi lets out a little, tiny “whee” as he’s moved. It’s fun, this time, he tells himself. He doesn't stay that way long, Kaito moving him back and then opening the door, taking Kokichi inside his—

Wait, this isn’t Kokichi’s room. He has enough time to be confused at that before they’re in the bathroom, the light's on, and Kaito’s setting Kokichi down on a cold, hard lid, his shoes making a funny sound as they scuff against probably cold, definitely hard tile.

Kokichi’s still a little confused, though. “This isn’t my room,” he notes, frowning, “are you kidnapping me? Are we gonna do crimes? Are we gonna miss the trial? I have a very busy schedule, you know, I can only fit in so _many_ crimes a day.”

Kokichi hears the wet hum of water out a sink, and the sound of Kaito opening a bottle. He sets a couple of pills down on the counter next to Kokichi. “Take those,” he says. “No, I’m not kidnapping you. We’re in my bathroom right now. I’m gonna clean up your wound.” He runs something under the water, then folds it on itself. Paper? No, obviously not, cloth maybe. “And we’re not gonna miss the trial. Monokuma wouldn’t start it without us.”

Kokichi slumps back against the toilet in relief. It's awfully cold. Hee hee. Kinda soothing right now, actually. He likes it.

He takes the pills and swallows them with the ease of a veteran pill swallower. A real soldier in the old Pill Wars. A decorated hero, returning home to a country indifferent to his existence, with severe, crippling PTSD and—

and this is getting a little too real, actually, Kokichi, thanks.

“Good thing he won’t start without us,” Kokichi hums, smiling, “the class trial is my favorite part!”

Kaito makes a face at that. Hee hee hee. Mission successful. “Of course it is,” he mumbles, but he doesn't sound that upset, actually, which is fine by Kokichi, too. He doesn’t know if he really wants anyone upset at him, not right now.

Kaito brings himself in front of Kokichi, holding the cloth in his hand. Yeah, definitely cloth, he thinks, little silly he didn’t realize sooner. “Alright. Sit still,” he says, like he’s a nurse looking after Kokichi or something, probably because he’s doing that.

“Uh huh,” Kokichi says, obligingly stilling as Kaito gets started with the rag, wiping blood off Kokichi’s face. It’s cool and damp, feels nice against his skin. He closes his eyes and lets it happen. It’s good. Feels good. Good feelings.

“Hey, have you ever played a game called Mafia?” Kokichi says, peppy-sounding. “I think some people call it Werewolf, too.” He’s not really sure why. He just wanted to talk about this.

Kokichi feels Kaito brush away some of his hair before he answers. Puts a shiver down his spine. It's not bad, though.

“Mm,” Kaito hums, low, “don’t think I have, actually. Sounds kinda familiar, though.”

Kaito switches to working on the other side of Kokichi’s face. Kokichi lets out a little hum as Kaito works. This is… nice, but in a way it isn’t usually? A way it’s maybe not supposed to? He wants to think about it more, but it hurts, and he doesn’t _really_ want to think about it right now. So he just doesn’t.

He can do that later.

“It’s a real basic idea. You got a couple of people are the mafia, and the rest of the people are villagers. Every ‘night’, mafia kill somebody. Village have to find out who mafia are, and they lynch one person per day to find out who. Mafia have to keep from being lynched by village.” Kokichi grins. “Sound similar to anything?”

Kaito snorts quietly. “Little bit,” he says, using his hand to smooth the hair off of Kokichi’s forehead. The wound feels a little different, exposed directly to the air. Hurts a little more. Nngh. It’s fine. Kokichi doesn’t feel pain, anyways, just fun, and he’s having fun right now.

The hair falls back down, and Kokichi opens his eyes to see Kaito getting himself up from the floor. “Gonna rinse out the washcloth real quick, and then I’ll finish up,” Kaito murmurs.  
  
He runs the washcloth under water again, and in the corner of his eye, Kokichi sees pink. Blood. _His_ blood, he realizes. Well, that’s kinda quirky. “So, how do the villagers win the game?” Kaito asks, turning off the sink and squeezing water out. Kind of a fun noise. Squish squish.

“You lynch all of the mafia members,” Kokichi explains. “Easy. If anything, the killing game is easier than all that. In Mafia, all the mafia members know who each other are and they’re working together. And there’s no evidence to work from, besides knowing that _someone_ is lying.”

Kokichi raises a finger, turning his head and looking at Kaito, or… trying to. Moving his head was a bad play. “So, uh, the, uh,” he blinks, _really_ bad play, “the game is just to expose the liars and get as many people home safe as you can.”

Kaito takes Kokichi’s chin. Oh, uh, okay, this is fine, too, fine that a guy is, uh, doing that, Kokichi guesses. Cool. Okay. “Hey, take it easy,” Kaito’s voice is weirdly soft. “Try not to move your head too much, alright?”

Kaito lets go of Kokichi’s chin, and that's cool, Kokichi thinks, okay, great even. “This is probably gonna hurt,” Kaito follows up, and oogh, yeeep, that’s the fun part. Kokichi doesn’t let any _real_ discomfort show as Kaito cleans out the wound itself. He’s always been good at that.

“Bet you’re good at that game,” Kaito says, though from his voice it kind of sounds like he doesn’t care that much. Oh, well, that’s fine. Kokichi will just make him care.

“Yep!” Kokichi grins. “Turns out those skills play surprisingly well in class trials.” He pauses, though, frowning. “Well, some of them.”

“Yeah?” Kaito hums, still going at that wound. Hurts hurts. Nngh. “Which ones?”

“If you want to expose a liar, you have to corner them psychologically,” Kokichi insists, a little more blunter than he'd meant to. Ow…

“Also, making yourself suspicious to see who jumps on it. The bad guys _want_ you to get the wrong person. So they’re eager to follow any suspicions that lead to the wrong person.” Kokichi frowns. “The main issue is that in here, you’re literally playing with lives. So some of the better tactics don’t work so well!”

“Mm.” Kaito hums again. “S’that what you do? Make yourself look suspicious to see who jumps on it?”

“Sometimes!” Kokichi giggles. “Truth be told, I’m just naturally suspicious, you know! This lets me put it to work.”

Kokichi looks at Kaito, best he can like this. He looks a little worried, staring into his eyes, head tilted, which is weird, and kind of funny, actually! Really funny. What’s there to be worried about? Hmmm. The trial? Angie and Chabashira? Yumeno?

“Sounds pretty dangerous, Ouma,” Kaito says, voice quiet.

… 

Kokichi? He’s—

“Oh, are you _worried_ about _me,_ Kaito-chan?” Kokichi grins, raising a finger up to poke Kaito’s nose. “That’s cu—” He misses, and gets Kaito’s cheek instead, “fuck. _Anyways,_ ” he gestures the hand away, “I can take care of myself, but it’s sweet of you to worry!”

Kaito just blinks at him for a second, his nose all wrinkling up like he’s bothered or thinking or something, Kokichi can only guess at the best of times, and he’s _good_ at guessing, normally, but not so good right now. Kinda hurts to think about too much.

“I know you can,” Kaito says, finally, moving his hand away and letting Kokichi’s hair fall back where it goes. He sets the cloth down and picks up the pill bottle, pointing it Kokichi’s way. It makes a nice little shaky noise as he does. “Hey, Ouma,” Kaito says, “take these with you, yeah?”

Kokichi inspects the bottle for a moment before taking it up in his hands. Slowly, on unsteady legs, he lifts himself up off the porcelain.

… Porcelain is kind of a funny word, isn’t it. Porcelain. Pooooorcelain. “Porcelain,” Kokichi whispers, giggling to himself.

“You good to go?” Kaito asks, like he’s not sure. Like that’s even a _question._ Kokichi is _so_ ready to be out of Kaito’s stupid little bathroom and _get going._

“Yep!” Kokichi chirps as he straightens himself up. He still looks a little bit unsteady on his feet, but at least there’s not a bunch of blood all over his face anymore. Messy, messy. “Totally clean, see?” Kokichi taps his forehead for emphasis. “Now I can’t scare _anybody._ ” He frowns. “Unless I try real hard, then I can probably scare somebody anyways, maybe.”

“Let’s go, then,” Kaito says, and he opens the door, and they can finally _go._ Nice nice _nice._

“Yeah!” Kokichi shouts. “Woo _hoo! CLASS TRIAL!”_ He pauses, then, and lifts a hand up to his head. “Maybe shouldn’t have done that,” he adds, quieter, “whoops.”

“Yeah, try to take it easy on the yelling for a bit, buddy,” Kaito says as Kokichi steps through the door slowly, but less unsteadily than he was walking earlier. Kaito’s following right after.

“See, now I just want to do it anyways,” Kokichi turns a little and waves a finger in Kaito’s direction, “see what you did? That’s a problem.”

Kaito sighs, hee hee, while he grabs the bedroom door and holds it open, too. “Should I have tried to, like, reverse-psychology you or some shit like that?”

“No, that never works,” Kokichi shakes his head, then realizes what he’s doing and stops, taking a second to reorient himself. “ _Anyways,_ ” he says, like that never happened, “you’ve gotta _really_ want me to yell if you want me to stop yelling. Obviously.”

“Whatever, Ouma,” Kaito says as he closes his door and locks it behind them, and it sounds like he’s just humoring—

Mmm, no. Class trial time. Like Kaito’s humoring Ouma. And he can try that _now,_ it’s all well and fine, but it’ll be a mistake if he does that in the trial. He’d better stay on his toes.

It’s Ouma's job to keep them doubting, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re interested, you can read kaito’s perspective of this chapter [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25685524)!


	4. cough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, it really should’ve been obvious, what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is our favorite chapter so far heeheehee
> 
> warning for semi-graphic descriptions of kaito coughing up blood

**iv. momota**

_“Ouma!”_

Chasing Ouma through the halls of the academy trying to get that damn card key back isn’t exactly the way Momota wants to spend his morning, but here he is, doing it anyway. Momota just has to consider himself lucky that he’s gotten used to running in his slippers, because otherwise he’d be completely screwed right now. 

As it is, he's just pissed, desperately trying to keep Ouma in his sight as he follows him out of the dining hall and through the hallway, toward the exit. Little fucker’s _fast._

“Momota-chan!” Ouma tosses back over his shoulder as he runs, “Something, the matter?” He rams the door open and runs out into the courtyard.

Momota just barely manages to make it to the door before it closes, shoving it open wider with his shoulder and barging through it. It takes him a second to process where Ouma is going, but once he does—he’s heading toward the back of the academy—he’s hot on his heels, feet thudding against the ground, heart thudding against his ribs. 

“Get _back_ here, you little—!”

“Give me one good reason!” Ouma shouts back, and Momota can _hear_ the grin in his voice, the bastard. He winds his way around the side of the building, toward the boiler room.

Momota just grunts wordlessly, too caught up in the chase to respond. It’s actually exhilarating, even with the blaze of anger in his gut. He hasn’t run like this in ages—sure, he’s been trying to keep up his habit of taking morning runs, but this? This is different. This is pushing himself to his limit, sprinting as hard and fast as he can possibly force his body to go. 

In retrospect, it really should’ve been obvious, what happens next. 

As he’s about to round the corner, several things happen at once. The burning in his lungs goes from slightly bothersome to excruciating, his chest goes tight in a way that makes his pulse stutter dangerously, and there’s an awful, _awful_ feeling in the back of his throat, one that he recognizes all too well. 

Kaito stops in his tracks, stumbles toward the wall of the academy, and braces one hand on it, cupping the other over his mouth as he starts to cough.

God, he’s a fucking idiot. He should’ve figured that something like this would happen.

After a moment, he hears Ouma’s voice from the other side of the building. but he can’t quite make out the words over the sound of his coughing. Some quip about asthma and keeping up with him. _Fuck,_ that means Ouma heard him. 

All Kaito can do now is pray that Ouma doesn’t think anything of it and starts running again. 

And of course, Kaito knows that trying to stifle his coughs is going to do absolutely nothing except make it worse, but he tries it anyway, clamping his hand tightly over his mouth and feeling his chest rattle with the effort of trying to keep the coughs at bay. He lasts maybe five seconds like that before another cough explodes out of him, and this one is wetter than the last. 

The sharp tang of copper fills Kaito’s mouth, thick and metallic. He hunches his shoulders, shifting closer to the wall, his other hand curling into a fist against the rough brick as he hacks pathetically into his palm. Warm blood splatters his skin, and still Kaito keeps coughing, unable to even get more than a breath or two in between. 

Fuck. _Fuck._

A pair of black shoes appears in the corner of his vision. 

“Kaito,” Ouma says, and it sends a shudder down Kaito’s spine, “what the _fuck?_ ”

No. No, no, _no._ This isn’t happening. This _can’t_ be happening, it can’t, it— 

Kaito’s eyes are watering, and he squeezes them shut, turning his back to Ouma. He presses his shoulder against the wall, arm coming down to wrap around his middle, fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket as his body shakes and shudders, wracked with the force of his coughs. 

“Leave—me—alone,” he chokes out, voice hoarse. 

His breaths are starting to sound more like wheezes, now. Kaito manages to stop hacking up a lung for long enough to suck in a gasp, ragged and desperate, before his chest convulses again and he’s right back to it. 

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. This is _so much worse_ than last night, what the _fuck?_

At least it seems to be dying down now. Kaito spits a mouthful of blood onto the ground and drags in another shaky inhale, eyes still shut.

“What, and leave you here to cough the _rest_ of your blood out?” Ouma snaps, and Kaito flinches at the anger in his voice—doesn’t have the energy not to, really. “No. Is there—” He cuts himself off, pauses for a second. 

When Ouma speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Is there anything I can do?”

Kaito doesn’t know how to respond, for a moment. He feels weak and worn out, trembling all over, blood dripping down his chin and coating his palm. It takes all of his strength not to collapse to his knees. 

But he’s already shown far, _far_ too much weakness in front of Ouma. 

“Yeah,” Kaito rasps, wincing again at how fucked up his voice sounds, at how much it hurts to speak. “You can l-leave me alo—” 

Another little fit of coughing cuts him off, and more tears stream down his face—no, not tears, just… water. He’s not crying. His eyes are watering. There’s a difference, he tells himself stubbornly.

He swallows this time, face screwing up at the taste of blood. “Fuck,” he manages, very quietly.

Suddenly, there’s an arm wrapping around Kaito’s waist, and Kaito’s brow furrows, his knees nearly giving out at the feeling. He’d like to be able to support himself on his own, but there’s no denying that Kokichi is holding him up as much as the wall is, now. 

Pathetic. What kind of hero can’t even stand by himself?

“No, _dumbass,_ ” Kokichi snaps, “I just saw you _cough blood_ and you think I’m going to just waltz away like nothing happened? Is that what _you_ would do, in my shoes?” 

They both know it’s not. Kaito was carrying Kokichi into his room to take care of his concussion not even a full day ago. 

“Did someone poison you?” Kokichi continues.

Kaito shakes his head, eyes still closed. Can’t even think about trying to look at Kokichi right now. “Not poison,” he murmurs. “Sick.” He wipes his eyes roughly with his clean hand, breathing slowly.

Kokichi is quiet for several seconds after that. Probably processing it, turning over the possibilities in his head. He’s like that. 

While he waits for Kokichi to respond, Kaito leans his head against the wall, slumping a bit. _Fuck,_ he needs to get his shit together. Everything he does, every bit of weakness he shows, is just going to worry Kokichi more. 

And Kokichi shouldn’t worry about him. No one should. Because he’s _fine._ The Luminary of the Stars can’t be stopped by some stupid illness! He’s just… 

…

Momota just needs to convince Ouma that everything’s going to be fine.

At last, Kokichi speaks, but it’s not what Kaito’s expecting. The only thing that comes out of his mouth after all that time is a soft, quiet, “Why?”

And Kaito almost wants to laugh at that, but it would hurt too much. He just keeps breathing, slow and measured, and rasps, “Why what?”

“Why _everything,_ ” Kokichi says, and the words come tumbling out of him, then, like he can’t stop them, “when did you get sick? _How_ did you get sick? Why isn’t anyone else showing symptoms? Is this a motive? What’s the _goal,_ here? This doesn’t…” He pauses, clearly frustrated. “This doesn’t make any _sense._ ”

Kaito pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. Of course Kokichi would immediately jump to assuming that this is part of the killing game. “Kokichi,” he says tiredly, “can you shut the fuck up for like, five seconds?”

Surprisingly, Kokichi acquiesces, falling silent. Shifting away from Kokichi’s arm around his waist, Kaito turns so his back is pressed against the wall, leaning his head back and exhaling deeply. Counting to five, composing himself. Then he opens his eyes, finally looking down at Kokichi. 

“It’s not a motive,” he says, quiet, hoarse. “And it’s not contagious. You don’t gotta worry about all that.” He swallows thickly, still able to taste a hint of blood.

“You sound like you know what’s going on, then, so,” Kokichi raises an eyebrow, “do you?”

Kaito gives Kokichi a long look, raising his eyebrows slightly. Aware that his face is still kinda bloody, he wipes his mouth with the back of his already-pink hand, sighing again. Ugh. Gross. 

“Yeah,” he answers, looking away. “But like I said, you don’t gotta worry. I’m fine.” Grimacing a little, he pushes himself up off the wall.

“Kaito,” Kokichi crosses his arms, “I’ve seen a lot of lies in my day, and that was maybe the worst of them. Which is impressive, since I’ve told some real stinkers.” Flatly, he adds, “you are _not_ fine. That’s obvious.”

Kaito glares at him out of the corner of his eye, his stomach twisting guiltily—which is _stupid,_ he shouldn’t be feeling guilty about this. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. 

(Part of him wishes Kokichi would stop calling him Kaito. It makes this whole thing feel more personal. More real.)

“I will be,” he shoots back, averting his gaze again. “I’m serious. I don’t want you worrying about me. This is nothing I can’t handle.” He thinks it would be more believable if there wasn’t blood drying in the lines of his palm, if his voice wasn’t still painfully scratchy.

“I never said I was worried about you, or that you couldn’t handle it.” Kokichi waves a dismissive hand. “But what should I be expecting from this, exactly? I assume you’re worried about people exploiting this. Do you… know what this illness looks like? Just coughing blood? Or…?”

Kaito frowns. Yeah, alright. He’s not sure whether he should believe Kokichi or not, but… it’s easier to handle, if Kaito doesn’t have to think about Kokichi worrying. About him caring. 

“Nah. I don’t think anyone’s gonna exploit it or anything like that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I trust everyone. But they’re gonna worry, and I don’t want that. Especially Shuichi and Harumaki. They’ve got enough on their plates already.”

And Kaito can’t bear the thought of his sidekicks seeing how weak he really is. Of them seeing him as anything less than a strong, confident hero. He doesn’t think there could be anything worse than that.

“ _Should_ they be worried?” Kokichi asks, bluntly. His face looks serious, scanning Kaito closely.

…

“Nah, ‘course not,” says Momota, putting on a smile. If it’s a little smaller than his usual luminous grin, that’s nobody’s business. “I already told you, I’m gonna be just fine.”

Kokichi frowns, and says nothing. Momota keeps his smile on, waiting, the silence between them growing uncomfortably long, before it’s finally broken.

“Alright, then, Momota-chan!” Ouma grins, abruptly, all chipper, and it’s only then that Momota lets his own smile drop, even if by that point his cheeks are starting to ache with the falsehood of it. “If you say it’s true, then it must be!” His eyes stare right into Momota’s, his eyebrows raising. “ _Noooo_ problem! You want any help cleaning all that blood off your hand, or are you good? Need me to grab any medicine on the sly?”

Momota shakes his head. “I’m good. I’ve got it covered.” He pauses, then, giving Ouma a serious look. “Hey, Ouma. You better not tell anyone about this,” he says, voice low. 

The way it’s phrased, it could be a threat, but it’s not. It’s as close as Momota can make himself get to asking.

“I’m not really in the habit of making promises,” Ouma scoffs, checking his nails instead of facing Momota, like the matter’s beneath him. “ _Buuut_ I don’t see any point in telling anyone, so you’re safe for now, I guess!”

His eyes dip back towards Momota, for just a second, gaze boring into him.

“But this isn’t going to get any _easier_ to hide, you know. Don’t do anything stupid like this again if you don’t want your secret to get out.”

At that, Momota frowns, his stomach twisting a little. But Ouma agreed not to tell anyone, so that’s good enough for him. 

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters, brushing past Ouma as he stalks away, heading for the dorms with his head down and his bloody hand tucked against his side. He makes it back to his room without incident, which he’s grateful for; he’s pretty sure they were pushing their luck, having a conversation like that out in broad daylight by the side of the academy. It’s just a good thing no one came outside. They’re probably exploring the new area of the school by now, anyway.

It’s not until he’s nearly finished washing his face that he realizes he let Ouma get away with the fucking key card. 

“God _d_ _ammit_ ,” Momota says aloud, the sound of his voice echoing in his empty bathroom. He glares at his reflection in the mirror, annoyed with himself. _What a failure._

Well, there’s nothing he can do about it now.

(Later, when Momota throws a punch and Ouma dodges it easily, when a fist slams into his stomach and sends him sprawling onto the floor of the trial room, when Ouma looks at him with that sick grin on his face and says _Maybe, just maybe... Momota-chan is hiding something from us, too_ , Kaito wonders why it feels like a betrayal. 

He should’ve known that he never should have trusted Ouma Kokichi.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters 5 and 6 are both significantly longer than the rest of the chapters so far, so they may take a little longer to get edited & posted!


	5. hangar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did Ouma fucking _kidnap him??_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops this took forever. anyway here's a 9k hangar chapter complete with Gay

**v. momota / ouma**

Momota wakes slowly, gradually, to a splitting headache and cold, hard metal under his back. When he forces his eyes open, the first thing he sees is the electric blue-green glow of the oval-shaped fluorescent light on the ceiling. It’s so strange, so disorienting, so unlike anything he’s expecting, that he just squints up at it for several moments, trying to think through the pounding in his skull. 

Where the fuck _is_ he?

Then Momota remembers—remembers clearing the Death Road of Despair, remembers opening the doors to discover the truth of the outside world, the unbelievable story Ouma told them, the revelation that _Ouma is the mastermind_ —and he bolts upright, his heart leaping into his throat.

This, he discovers quickly, is a mistake.

“Ow, _fuck,_ ” Momota hisses, pressing a hand to his throbbing head. He curls in on himself a bit, squeezing his eyes shut until the ache clears enough that he can think again.

Okay. _Focus,_ Luminary. What happened after that? 

He frowns, replaying the events in his head. He'd gotten pissed, he remembers that much. And he’d… charged at Ouma. Who had the Exisals surrounding him. And then, after that, everything had gone dark.

Not really his best play, that one. 

Momota opens his eyes again, looking around. He’s in a small room, with thick pipes on the walls and a sink across from him. There’s a mirror hanging above the sink, and behind him is a toilet, with a weird red glowing thing underneath it. Near it is a tiny window, propped slightly open.

This is… the bathroom in the Exisal hangar.

… 

Did Ouma fucking _kidnap him??_

Groaning involuntarily, Momota pushes himself up on shaky legs, reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for support. God, he feels like _shit._ He glances toward the door, frowning, pointedly avoiding looking at himself in the mirror as he rubs the back of his head.

There's no way it’s unlocked, right?

Momota tries the handle anyway, with no luck. Dammit.

Anger flares in his chest, burning hot and bright. Frown deepening to a scowl, he pounds on the door loudly, ignoring the way the sound makes his head throb, and yells, “ _H_ _ey!_ ”

There’s a split second pause, and then, 

_“Mooooooomota-chan!"_ Ouma draws Momota’s name out, a cheery shout. “What’s going on? Bear attack in the bathroom? Ya gotta piss? If so, I recommend the toilet. You know how to use one, or do I gotta teach you?”

Momota clenches his jaw. Just the sound of Ouma’s voice is enough to make his blood boil, anger turning to blinding, white-hot rage. He bangs on the door again, barely feeling the pain that echoes up his arm as his fist meets metal. “Let me out of here so I can punch your teeth in, you fucking bastard!”

“ _Hmmmmmmmmm,_ ” Ouma draws the sound out, loudly, “no. Don’t think I will, actually. Not unless you want to come out and talk to one of my good friends again instead!”

A shiver goes down Momota’s spine at that, the blistering anger fading slightly. He’s not particularly keen on facing an Exisal again, especially not one controlled by Ouma. Those things could snap him in half, easy. 

Then again, if Ouma really wanted him dead, he’s had plenty of opportunity to kill him before now. 

Momota glares at the door, debating the merits of punching it again. “Fuck you, Ouma,” he spits vehemently.

“Not on your best day, sport,” Ouma quips, casually. “So how are you feeling in there? Think I might snoop around and see what all I can grab. Anything nice you’d like me to pick up for you as a treat?”

Momota doesn’t even want to dignify that with a response. His heart is beating a little too hard, face flushed from anger, knuckles white from how tight he’s clenching his fists. He hates Ouma so much, he wants to punch him so _fucking_ bad right now. 

God. Kaito can’t believe he ever thought—

“Fuck off,” Momota returns, voice trembling slightly with rage.

“How about we try this one more time,” Ouma says, his voice flat. It moves, quickly, into a commanding tone, one that doesn’t brook argument. “You’re going to be in here for a while. If there’s anything you think you’ll _need_ or _want_ for a multiple days long stay in a hangar bathroom, you’ve got one chance left to ask for it.”

…

Fucking asshole. He has a point. 

“Clothes,” Momota says after a moment, sounding more subdued, though still loud enough to be heard through the door. “And a blanket or something, I dunno.”

He pauses.

“… Maybe some medicine, if you’re not too much of a dick to give me that,” he adds, a slight edge in his voice to cover how much it stings him to ask.

Ouma titters out one of his old _nishishi_ s. “I’ll have you know I treat all of my captives _very_ well! Helps in the Supreme Leader of Evil business, you know.”

That’s not a lie, then.

Momota rolls his eyes. At least Ouma didn’t try to fuck with him by asking him to say please or some shit like that. Momota would sooner rot in hell than ask Ouma nicely for anything. 

Honestly, rotting in hell isn’t too different from what he’s gonna be doing. 

“Whatever, just leave me alone already,” he snaps.

“Awww, you don’t wanna ask me why I did it? Let me rant for a while about how my mom didn’t hug me enough as a baby? _Unbelievable_.” His tone is jovial; playful even. Like this is a _game_ to him. “See you in a few, Momota-chan!” he calls out before walking away, feet tapping loudly on the floor.

Actually, if Momota has to hear Ouma’s voice for one more fucking second, he thinks he could scream. So it’s a relief, to hear him go.

Momota lets out a sigh once Ouma is gone, sitting back down on the floor next to the counter. Back pressed against the wall, he curls up, folding his arms on top of his knees and resting his forehead in the crook of his elbow.

This fucking sucks. What kind of a lousy, pathetic hero lets himself get captured by the villain?

Seconds start to tick by, and Momota’s mind wanders.

…

Momota hopes his sidekicks are doing okay without him. Not that he thinks they need him, because they definitely don’t—in fact, more often than not, he’s pretty sure _he’s_ the one who needs _them_ —but… 

Man. He just really hopes they’re alright. 

… 

…… 

He… never made up with Shuichi, huh? Kaito wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to, now. 

Kaito’s not still mad at Shuichi. He never really was. Mostly he was just… ashamed of himself. For being an idiot. For not trusting in his best friend. Kaito doesn’t regret believing in Gonta, but he does regret not listening to Shuichi. 

And now it’s too late to fix it.

… 

Kaito swallows around the lump in his throat and closes his eyes, tucking his face into his elbow and pretending that the fabric of his sleeve isn’t steadily growing damp with his tears.

Nngh.

Kaito doesn’t let himself cry for long. A minute, maybe two at most, of silent tears. He’s mostly still, not least because he doesn’t want to cry too hard and trigger a coughing fit. Then he just sits there, face still buried in his arm, breathing slowly and trying to ignore the sticky, black guilt that twists a knot in the pit of his stomach. 

With nothing to distract him, it doesn’t really work. God. He should’ve asked Ouma for something to keep him occupied while he’s stuck in here. 

Not that Ouma would‘ve actually done it, if he’d asked. 

_Kokichi would’ve,_ Kaito thinks, and then immediately banishes the thought. The Kokichi he thought he knew isn’t real. Never was. Ouma is the mastermind, and Kaito would do well to remember that. 

He ends up pacing around the bathroom for the last… maybe twenty minutes or so? It’s hard to keep track of time. Ugh. Ouma’s going to keep him in here for _days?_ When he gets back, Momota is going to give the guy a piece of his fucking mind. 

_“Ollie ollie oxen free!”_ Ouma’s voice calls from beyond the door, and Momota scowls reflexively. 

Speak of the devil.

A loud, metallic noise follows Ouma’s voice. An Exisal. “Clear the door area or prepare to get hit by a bunch of junk!”

Still frowning, Momota moves back from the door, standing against the far wall with all the pipes, and crosses his arms. 

“Three!” Ouma says, voice nearer to the door now. “Two!” The lock clicks. “One!”

Momota sighs.

“Heave ho!”

The door opens, and Momota doesn’t even _see_ Ouma, just the Exisal tossing a fairly large pile of shit onto the floor. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get a chance to before the door slams shut again. Which is probably for the best, actually. 

Frowning, Momota goes over to the pile. There’s… a whole ass mattress? The sheets look familiar—did Ouma steal his _entire bed_ and bring it here? Wrapped up in the blanket is all the medicine from his bathroom, clothes, food, a notebook and a pencil, some shit that looks like it’s from the MonoMono machine… 

“Hey,” Momota calls through the door, utterly baffled. “What the hell is all this?”

“Stuff,” Ouma calls back, tone sounding a little confused by the question as a whole.

“Uh. Yeah, okay,” is all Momota says, still too bewildered to even come up with a smartass response. He crouches down beside the mattress, reaching out and picking up the tamagotchi machine. Why did Ouma bring him all of this stuff?

Some small, hidden part of him, deep in Kaito’s chest, glows with a faint warmth. Momota quickly pushes it down. He seriously doubts Ouma did this just to be nice. He wouldn’t do something like that. 

… But then why _would_ he?

“So, anything else you want,” Ouma asks, sounding bored, “or can I get back to fucking around in this hangar?”

Momota goes to tell Ouma to fuck off yet again, but he’s stopped by a tickle in his throat. He swallows, brows pushing together in a frown. 

Dammit. The timing really couldn’t be worse, huh. 

“Whatever,” he gets out, hoping Ouma won’t be able to hear the strain in his voice through the door. He moves toward the back of the bathroom, chest hitching with an aborted cough.

When Ouma laughs, it sounds loud, and genuine. “You know where to find me! Later, Kaito!” he teases as he goes.

Momota doesn’t even really have a chance to process that—not that he would care, anyway, because Ouma is just mocking him, and even if it was sincere, he still wouldn’t give a shit. 

But he doesn’t have time to even think about that. He’s too busy curling up in the furthest corner of the bathroom and muffling his coughs into his hand.

Shit.

This coughing fit, at least, doesn’t last too long. Small mercies, Momota thinks, even as he wipes the blood off his mouth and catches his breath. Maybe he’s getting better. 

Yeah, right. Momota isn’t fooling anyone. Even if his bouts of coughing are short, they’re more frequent, and there’s a frankly alarming amount of blood being expelled from his body each time. 

He can _feel_ it, too, even when he’s not coughing. The way his body feels weaker, the way his lungs sometimes struggle to get a full breath even when he’s sitting still. The way he can’t even do a pushup without coughing, now. He tries, at one point, and spends a good minute curled up on the cold metal floor hacking for his efforts. 

Momota’s getting worse. He’s _dying,_ and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. 

Kaito wonders how much time he has left.

Time passes. It’s impossible to tell how much, honestly. Momota thinks he burns a good two hours or so laying on the mattress and fucking around with the tamagotchi. It’s surprisingly entertaining, actually, until he starts to get sucked back into his own thoughts. 

At one point, he turns on the little planetarium machine. The narration is kind of stupid, but it helps to break the pressing silence, and he likes looking at the stars projected on the walls of the bathroom, at least for a little while. 

Then he starts thinking about how he’s never gonna get to go to space, because he’s probably going to die in this stupid bathroom, and he abruptly reaches over and switches it off, cutting the narrator off mid-sentence. Sorry, famous actor narrator.

Anyway.

…

Momota is bored. 

Seriously. This is the worst. He paces around the bathroom until he’s too worn out to keep walking—which happens far too quickly, and then he’s just frustrated with himself and with the world, sitting down on the floor with a huff. God. 

He misses Shuichi. And Harumaki. And—

… 

Is he really this desperate?

Nnngnghh. 

“Oi,” Momota calls, shifting over to sit against the door, leaning his head back. “Ouma.”

There’s a brief pause before Ouma responds from somewhere beyond the door. “Yeah, what is it?” His tone is a little impatient, but it quickly switches to something peppy and energetic, coming closer. “ _Always_ happy to hear from my darling Momota-chan!”

Momota already regrets this. 

He almost says “never mind,” almost decides to just forget about the whole thing and tell Ouma to go away again. But there’s a question that’s been weighing on him, this whole time, and he’s dying for an answer, so. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, and then says, “Why’d you bring me here?”

“Oh, _that?_ ” Ouma says, like it’s obvious, like Momota wasn’t unconscious. “Didn’t I—” he pauses, suddenly. “Right. You wouldn’t know.” His voice is subdued when he says that, like he’s talking more to himself; Momota has to strain to hear it. 

Then Ouma speaks up again, in that stage villain voice, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “It’s not obvious? You’re their _hero,_ their little beacon of hope, their _Luminary._ ” Ouma laughs to himself at that. “I took you to keep you from stirring up trouble, and it seems like it’s worked, judging by your Monopad.” He lets out another cackle. “See, none of them have left their rooms all day!”

Ouma pauses, tone more matter of fact. “Not that I blame you for trying, mind. I’d be causing a lot of problems, too, if I knew I was living on borrowed time.”

Momota grits his teeth, his stomach twisting at the mention of his friends. None of them have left their rooms? Are they really that depressed about everything, without Momota there to encourage them?

No. He can’t think like that. They’re fine without him, they have to be. This _can’t_ be the end. 

“Fuck you,” he snaps. “I believe in Shuichi and Harumaki and everybody else. There’s no way they’re just sitting around. They’re definitely gonna come up with a plan to take you down!”

“What's the point?” Ouma asks, sounding disinterested. “Getting you back, sure. But, well, you don’t exactly have a lot of time to be _gotten_ back, now, do you? And after that… well. Is there a point to killing me?” His tone turns smug on the other side of the door, self-assured. “Vengeance won’t bring back anyone who’s dead. Like I told them, the killing game is over. I’m bored of it now. They’re welcome to live out the rest of their miserable little lives on this miserable little space vessel however they please.”

Momota bristles. Fucking hell, why does Ouma have to keep _reminding_ him? Momota knows damn well that he’s dying. That he’s got a few days left at most. And the other part sends a chill down his spine despite everything—because despite everything, he doesn’t want Ouma to die. He doesn’t want _anyone_ else to die. Even if it’s Ouma.

And besides, what would it achieve? They can’t leave this place. There’s nothing that can be done. 

“You fucking b—” A cough interrupts Momota, violent enough that he lurches forward onto his knees, blood splattering the metal floor. 

_Fuck._

“Fucking bastard,” Momota rasps, not sure if Ouma can even hear him.

“Fucking b, that’s me,” Ouma says, even more self-assurance oozing from his voice. “Do you wanna make something of it in particular?”

Momota draws in a labored breath, wiping his mouth and glaring at the spots of bright pink on the floor. “Bastard,” he repeats, louder. The roughness of his voice does nothing to take away from the hatred in his tone.

“Bastard I may be,” Ouma coos, mildly, “but I’m not heartless. I’ll make you an offer to let you out of here, on one condition. All I want is one little thing.”

A frown crosses Momota’s face, curiosity piqued despite himself. What could Ouma possibly want badly enough that he would let Momota go free? 

_No._ He can’t buy into Ouma’s bullshit, can’t fall for his lies. There’s no way he would really let Momota go. Momota absolutely cannot trust him, not even for a second. He really should just tell Ouma to fuck off. 

…

Momota clears his throat. Dammit. “What?” he says.

“You do what I want for, oh, one day?” Ouma’s voice is simple, matter of fact. “Not even that, maybe half a day. After that, you’re free to do literally anything you want with the time you have left. I won’t stop you.”

“Uh,” Momota says, struck wordless for a moment. What the _fuck_ kind of request is that? “What exactly are you wanting me to do? Or are you gonna make me agree before you tell me?”

“Unfortunately,” and Ouma sounds like this really is unfortunate, for once, “I’m not capable of telling you before you agree. _So~rry._ ”

This is, quite possibly, the sketchiest thing Momota has ever heard in his life, he decides. No way is he going along with whatever probably supremely fucked up thing Ouma wants him to do. 

“Yeah, no. No fucking way,” Momota says. “I’m not doing shit for you.”

He can’t believe he was even considering it for a second.

Ouma laughs, then, long and loud. “Well, that’s fine, too, Kaito-chan! Don’t worry about it.” The smugness is thick in his voice when he adds, “If you reconsider, I’ll be right here. _I’ve_ got time, after all.”

A beat, in which Momota just glares at the wall. Stupid bastard.

“Did you want anything else, then? Or was that it?” Ouma says.

Momota leans back against the door again, letting out a single, quiet cough. “Actually, I have one more question,” he says.

“Sure!” Ouma chirps. “Hit me.” A momentary pause. “Don’t literally hit me, think we’ve had enough of that, thanks.”

God, what Momota wouldn’t give to be able to punch Ouma again. He flexes his fingers, curling them into a fist. 

“What’s your plan?” he asks. “You gonna just stay holed up in here with me indefinitely? There’s no way you’re not planning _something_ out there.”

“ _Hmmmmmmmm,_ ” Ouma enunciates the noise loud enough to be heard from behind the door, “what an interesting question. Maybe I’m not planning anything at all! Maybe I’m _bored_ of planning. Maybe all I want to do is sit inside of this hangar and while my time away playing with my Exisals, ever think about that?” He titters out a little _nishishi._ “Sounds good to _me!_ ”

Momota raises an eyebrow. “You really expect me to believe that? Nah. No way.” He shakes his head. “You’d get bored too easily.” He knows that, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Ouma literally cannot sit still for more than a few seconds. There’s not a chance in hell that he’s just sitting around doing nothing. 

“C’mon. I’m,” Momota swallows, “gonna be dead in a couple days at most. What am I gonna do with whatever you tell me? S’not like I can do anything about it.”

There’s nothing but silence at that, for an awkwardly long amount of time. Momota frowns, tapping his fingers against his knee. Part of him starts to wonder if Ouma just up and walked away—he’s more than capable of doing so quietly enough that Momota wouldn’t even hear him, especially through the thick door. 

Then Ouma speaks again. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, his tone flat, barren of its usual pomp. “Maybe I _am_ planning something. Maybe something nasty, even. Can’t be anything good, coming from me, right?” His tone picks up in pace and energy. “I’m your enemy, remember? Everything bad that’s ever happened to you was because of _me,_ remember? And now _you_ wanna hear what _I_ have planned, just because?”

He’s quieter, then, barely audible from behind the door, when he adds, “And it’s not _you_ I don’t want to hear, anyways.”

Momota’s frown deepens, brow furrowed. The thing is, Ouma isn’t wrong, exactly. It doesn’t make sense for Momota to be talking to him like this, asking questions so casually, almost like he’s trying to coax Ouma into telling him. Like things are still… not _normal,_ but the way they were before. Before Ouma revealed himself as the mastermind, before he killed Gonta and kidnapped Momota and everything went to shit even more than it already was.

But he’s curious, especially about that last part. Sue him.

“Kinda do, yeah,” he says, eventually. “It’s pretty fucking boring in here.” He pauses. “And what d’you mean by that? Who am I gonna tell, my fuckin’ tamagotchi?”

“Oh, you haven’t noticed, Momota-chan?” Ouma’s voice sounds baffled, like it’s so _strange_ Momota doesn’t know this. “There are eyes and ears _everywhere_ at this academy, you know.” With the casually knowing tone of his voice, he could be explaining the answers to last night’s quiz as easily as anything else. “Always listening. _Always_ listening. And I’ll give away my secrets to _you,_ maybe, if you act _real_ cute, but there’s _no way_ I’m giving them away to all those eyes and ears, too.”

Hmm. Momota leans his head back against the door and frowns up at the ceiling. Why would Ouma care about something like that? Wouldn’t they be _his_ eyes and ears, since he’s the mastermind?

He’s probably just lying again, huh. Typical. 

… That had sure sounded like the truth, though, when he said it wasn’t Momota that he didn’t want to hear. A rare moment of honesty, maybe.

Momota shakes his head, scowling. That’s a stupid way to think, not to mention _dangerous._ He can’t trust anything Ouma says. He knows that. He was an idiot for ever believing otherwise. 

Suddenly, Momota feels incredibly tired. 

“Yeah, alright,” he sighs. “Figures you wouldn’t tell me.” Worth a shot, he supposes. “That’s all I wanted to ask.”

After a few moments’ pause, Ouma chirps back, “Well, there’s a way to find out,” giggling, “and you already _know it,_ even! So let me know if you decide you want to know after all. I’ll be here.”

Momota doesn’t respond. There’s no point, really. He doesn’t get up for a long time, just closes his eyes and sits there against the door, wondering why the ache of loneliness in his chest feels so much more prominent than usual.

When he does finally get up, it’s with another little cough, grating in his chest. Ugh. It’s with slow, almost sluggish movements that he cleans up the blood on the floor from earlier, then curls up on the mattress Ouma brought him and closes his eyes.

If only sleep would come easy.

* * *

Blood.

The smell hangs in the air. Not heavy, not quite. But in a place that’s smelled the same for days, it's so, _so_ very noticeable.

Harukawa darts away from the window, looking to find another antidote (she won’t), looking to break into the building. Something. Anything. Unfortunately for her, she won’t be interrupting Ouma’s show again. His final act on the mastermind’s stage.

 _I wanna see what a dying Momota-chan can do,_ Ouma’d said.

He stares down at the man in front of him, dying from poison, the same way Ouma is. Only one of them is making it to sunrise, and Momota, glaring at Ouma like he’d personally murdered the spaceman's puppy (hey, maybe he did, if Gonta counts), seems like he thinks he knows who it’ll be.

Oh, how very wrong he is.

He looks like he has a thought, but Ouma interrupts him. “That wasn’t a lie,” he says, reaching into his pocket (and god every movement stings now, _thanks_ Momota), “I _do_ want to see what you can do.”

Out comes an Electrobomb. Ouma’s grinning like a madman. “Forgot one important thing, though.”

Momota has just enough time for his eyes to widen, to say “what are you—” before—

**_BOOM_ **

Nishishi.

Ouma blinks, adjusting to the change in light soon enough to see Momota fell on his ass at the explosion, groaning.

“Ugh… what the hell was that for?” Momota grits out, lowering his arm after a moment, blinking up at Ouma.

What a simple question with such a _complex_ answer. The only thing Ouma can do now is just _pray_ Iruma did her job right with that bomb.

(Of course she did. She always does—no. Did.)

In lieu of answering right away… for the first time in what feels like days, Kokichi lets himself feel everything he's feeling.

He’s tired. He’s hungry. He’s weak. He’s dying.

Maybe it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, maybe it’s his imagination, but he really _does_ feel like he’s dying. Like he can feel the poison flowing through his veins from his back. Really, it’s a miracle he can walk at all, with that thing in him there. He guesses he should be grateful for small blessings.

Haha.

Kokichi, for a moment, just looks up at the ceiling, and lets out a laugh, small and weak. Something to get it out of his system. Only then do his eyes come back down to Kaito.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he explains, simply, matter of factly, “so make sure you’re asking questions that matter from here on in. And to answer your question…”

Kokichi takes the bottle of medicine and unscrews the cap properly this time, sloshing the liquid around in it, just enough for it to make a sound, before kneeling down in front of Kaito, easing him into a sitting position. “I wasn’t lying yesterday, either. There really _are_ eyes and ears all over. No one can hear us _now,_ though, if Iruma-chan’s work was up to snuff.”

Kokichi presses the bottle up to Kaito’s lips. He’d _make_ the fool drink it down if he had to, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to stop to think about it, he just lets it pass down his throat.

This’ll be nice and easy if he just keeps on like that, but somehow Kokichi _doubts_ that one. Just a little bit. When the antidote is down Kaito’s throat (and Kokichi’s death warrant is sealed for good, he notes, distantly), he looks up at Kokichi, brow knit in confusion. “What are you… talking about?” Kaito asks, sounding bewildered. “What… why…”

Most of the rest of Kokichi’s life is going to be spent answering Kaito’s questions, huh. This is really how he’s gonna go out, huh. Talk about a whimper and not a bang.

“ _Sensible_ questions,” Ouma chides, brow furrowed. After a moment, Kokichi lets the expression fade, his hands shaking a little as he caps the lid back on the bottle, as he carefully makes sure the antidote label is obscured. It is. His blood’s doing something useful, for once. Kaito just watches, looking a little bothered. Kokichi should probably give him an actual answer.

“I’ll give you a pass… for this one.” Kokichi sets the bottle down. It’s getting a little harder to breathe, he can’t help but notice. Talking is getting unpleasantly hard. God, is this how Kaito’s felt all week? “There’s a lot going on… right now. Let me bottom line it for you. _I…_ want _you…_ to help with my plan. It’s a little hard… for you to do that… if you're dead.” _Unless you’re Iruma-chan,_ Kokichi thinks, just a touch bitterly.

“Plan? What plan?” By god, do they grow them stupid.

Kokichi smirks at Kaito. “This whole time… I’ve been thinking… of a plan to throw the mastermind off guard.”

Cat’s out of the bag, anyhow. There’s no turning back, not from this.

“Throw the mastermind off guard?” Kaito says, deciding to kin a very stupid parrot. “What the hell are you talking about? _You’re_ the mastermind!”

_Kaito. You’re joking, right?_

… No, probably not. Fine. “That was a lie. I,” Kokichi pauses, finding himself unsteady, shaking, stumbling over his words now, and _god_ does he hate it, “I only pretended to be the mastermind.”

Kokichi’s eyes narrow, and his face turns downwards in a frown as he stares at Kaito, subconsciously straightening himself, against his limbs’ will. If he wants to show honesty, now’s the time. “To end this _stupid_ killing game.”

There’s a pause, like Kaito is considering it.

Eventually, he frowns, his expression mirroring Kokichi’s own. “Go on.”

“I thought…” Kokichi closes his eyes, just trying to breathe, to speak, “if I showed you the truth… you guys wouldn’t want to go outside anymore… it’d end the killing game.”

A weak chuckle escapes him. “But instead, this happened.” Kokichi is going to die here. No doubt about that. He did that to himself. But… “The reason Harukawa tried to kill me… this Remnant of Despair nonsense… the true mastermind instigated it, I’m certain of it.” He sighs, lets the tension out. What’s done is done. “Th-they made a move,” he pauses to breathe, “without us noticing. Thanks to that…”

Kokichi gestures to his arm. He’s dying. Not his ideal plan scenario. … But he can make it work, he thinks.

Kaito regards him for a long moment, mouth set in a flat line. “The true mastermind instigated it, huh?” There’s that parrot again. “I dunno about all that Remnant of Despair shit, but… that’s what made Harumaki try to kill you. You’re saying the mastermind instigated her actions?”

Kokichi nods, weakly. “The mastermind probably tried to eliminate me… because I was pretending to be them…” And doing a better job, too, he thinks, chuckling again.

Kaito rubs the back of his neck. “Alright, I think I’m following you,” he says. “So, then, who _is_ the real mastermind?”

Kokichi gives Kaito an incredulous look. “Who knows?” _If I knew, I sure wouldn’t be here!_

Then he shakes his head, a little too quickly, almost unsteadying himself. “It doesn’t matter… we can’t afford to lose… This whole thing was _pointless…_ ” his gaze grows desperate, then, firm on Kaito, “if we don’t _win._ That’s why…” his grin grows borderline manic, “I thought of a special plan. So now, on the verge of losing… we can still win.”

Kaito frowns, and Kokichi can’t tell if it’s discomfort or seriousness. “So what exactly is this plan of yours?

This is it. Ouma’s only chance. Ouma’s last laugh against the mastermind. Now or never.

Kokichi’s grin only grows. “Well, Kaito… it’s not that difficult…” and it grows, and it grows, “I just need you to kill me.”

“ _What?_ ” Kaito’s surprised, which is about what Kokichi expected, and maybe a little disgusted and afraid, too. Not the _worst_ first reaction. Maybe Kokichi can work with this.

Kokichi reaches into his outfit and pulls out his notebook, presenting it to Kaito. Kokichi’s face relaxes, because it _hurts,_ and he can’t maintain it. “Not just any old murder. This one’s special. Normally, in this game… the blackened faces off against the spotless… right?” His grin grows again, further still than it was before. Ow. “Not this time. Kaito, I want you… to face off against Monokuma and the mastermind. A murder even Monokuma can't figure out… that’s my plan.”

Gingerly, Kaito takes the notebook, holding it in his hands and gazing down at it. After a moment, he looks up at Kokichi again, forehead still creased with a frown. “I don’t understand,” Kaito admits, “a murder Monokuma can’t figure out? Just what the hell are you saying?”

“You saw the press out there,” Kokichi explains, face returning to normal. “Anyone killed like _that_ … would be unrecognizable.” He raises his eyebrows, watching Kaito swallow at that. Not surprising he doesn’t quite have the stomach for it. Ouma’s already sent two to their deaths, after all. “From there, it’s easy. Break the press for good… Get in that Exisal Harukawa brought… and stay in it. After the mastermind’s eyes come back online… they won’t be able to find out who’s inside.”

Kokichi chuckles, staring at Kaito intently… excitedly, even. “Exisal’s got a voice changer. I pre-programmed them all… to work my voice perfectly. And I even made you a script. You’ll have to ad-lib some,” Kokichi shakes his head, “this _didn’t_ go to plan, not,” Kokichi’s breaths comes out in shudders, and he leans forward, gasping, Kaito steadying him in his arms, “not, not at all, but… You can make it work. All you’ve got to do… is get Monokuma to rule me or Harukawa killed _you._ Then you show yourself…” he grins again, “and the whole game’s _ruined._ Monokuma’s proven a fraud… once and for all.”

Now that Kokichi’s not speaking, it’s obvious how worried Kaito is over him, like it _matters,_ like any of it matters. Kokichi’s a dead man walking. The only reason he’s still alive is to accomplish his plan. Pain, fear, they’re all secondary. All of it.

“How would that ruin the game, though?” Kaito asks, at least putting up a _front_ of being more intent on the plan. “Why would Monokuma care if he messed up on who the blackened was?”

A good question, for once.

“No matter who you are… Monokuma or the mastermind…” Kokichi grins, pulling back a little, still supported by Kaito’s arms, “breaking the rules of the game… it’s not allowed… that much is obvious.”

Kaito frowns, meeting Kokichi’s eyes, his thumbs rubbing idly back and forth over Kokichi’s shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“A game like this?” Kokichi raises a finger, grinning. “It’s meant to be _watched._ Otherwise… why do rules matter at all? It’s for the _entertainment,_ ” he spits the word, distastefully. “Monokuma’s always on about the rules… and about keeping the game _interesting…_ My plan in the Virtual World… was a test of that. Why…”

Kokichi pauses, again, his hands shaking, his whole body shuddering against Kaito’s arms, “why… bother so much… with rules… if you don't think… anyone’s watching you? Someone _has_ to be watching.”

Kaito presses his lips together for a moment, seeming like he’s in thought about it. “Yeah, okay,” he says, finally, “I get what you’re saying. But…”

He pauses again, looking uncomfortable. “I seriously can’t get past this. Saying you want me to kill you… what the fuck is that about? Why do I have to…”

Kaito’s really gonna make Kokichi play dirty, huh.

Fine.

Ouma levels a look at Kaito, his face serious. “Way I see it… you’ve got two options. You kill me… or Harukawa’s poison…” he smiles ruefully, “finishes the job. And that… that won’t help my plan… not at all. Harukawa’s no good… at covering her tracks. So… both she and I… die for no reason.” He raises an eyebrow. “Letting the mastermind win… are you okay with that?”

Kaito’s eyes widen. “You…” he starts, then stops. “Dammit… so that’s why you gave me the antidote, huh? That’s just playing dirty…”

Kokichi’s _nishishi_ is more fake than usual. That’s not a _no,_ he’s noticing. “I’m the Ultimate Supreme Leader, remember? This…” he takes a moment, a long moment, trying to keep his breathing steady, willing his lungs, his whole body, to stop fighting him. “This is _my_ talent. There are no depths I won’t sink to…” he grins, despite himself, despite every ounce of weakness in his rebellious, dying body, “not even… if I have to sacrifice myself… to _win._ ”

Kaito opens his mouth like he’s going to respond, but then he just… doesn’t, so he just ends up staring at Kokichi, stunned.

Which, Kokichi notes, _still_ isn’t a no.

“This is it,” Kokichi presses, “our chance to end this killing game. That’s why… why you have to… to kill me. So we can win… so we can ruin this killing game… ruin the _fun_ of the mastermind… and anyone who’s watching…” he starts laughing, maniacally, his chest heaving, his face contorted in a grin that looks downright painful, “then, then everyone who’s died, they, they can,” he keeps laughing, his whole body shaking, trembling, “we can all, rest in peace.”

Kokichi stops, has to, gasping for air, slumping forward against Kaito. _Fuck,_ it hurts. It hurts so _fucking_ much. Kaito holds Kokichi close, one hand on his shoulder, the other somewhere below his back injury. The motion makes him aware of the blood trailing down his back, more than he was already.

He’s dying. Kokichi is dying.

Quietly, he whispers, “I’m gonna die soon. We need to get started.”

“You’re seriously fucking crazy,” Kaito responds, his own voice only barely above Kokichi’s.

“Sure,” Kokichi’s voice, quiet as it is, still sounds amused. “But, hey… at least I wasn’t boring… right?"

Kaito closes his eyes, a small exhale. “No,” he answers, voice soft, too soft for this, too soft for the work ahead, almost… gentle, “you weren’t.”

Kokichi manages a laugh, a weak one, short, but genuine.

… Kaito really shouldn’t use that tone with him, not with a dead man, not now.

“Alright,” Kokichi murmurs after a moment, pulling his head back up. “Give me the book back… I’ll write the details. What needs done. Don’t trust my voice… not, not right now.”

Too much to explain. Not enough time. Not enough air. His hands are shaky, too, but he’ll have to make this work, and fast.

Kaito lets go of Kokichi and hands the notebook back to him, and then Kokichi gets started. He tries to make his writing as legible as possible, putting the directions and their orders on the inside front cover of the book. He wrote something for Kaito on the first page, around when he got started, but that’s for later. And something for Saihara, on the next page over, but that one wasn’t ever working out, so he tore it out.

He writes the directions, as carefully as he can, but his penmanship is sloppy, on account of his hands shaking too hard to really hold a pen well, and he knows it. Still. He thinks he manages to get them out okay.

  1. _Remove crossbow bolts, place in bathroom with crossbow and bottle_
  2. _Drag victim_ (Kokichi can’t write his own name, not here, not now) _to press for blood trail_
  3. _Victim stands at press operation, culprit lays under press_
  4. _Victim operates video camera, recording press starting to crush culprit_
  5. _Victim stops press and camera just beforehand_
  6. _Culprit leaves jacket in press, bloody sleeve exposed_
  7. _Victim removes shirt, lays in press_
  8. _Culprit starts press and camera simultaneously_
  9. _Victim [ILLEGIBLE]_
  10. _Culprit breaks power to press_
  11. _Culprit disposes of victim’s shirt_ (Kokichi can’t… think of how, right now)
  12. _Culprit places video camera in Exisal's grasp_
  13. _Culprit enters Exisal and waits_



There. Okay. Kokichi thinks he’s covered all his bases. He wants to keep going, almost, but his hands… he can’t, he really can’t, he’s testing himself as it is. He shakily hands the book, front open, over to Kaito. 

Time to get crackin’.

While Kaito reads over the instructions and familiarizes himself with them, Kokichi reaches his off hand over to his upper arm, grips the crossbow shaft as tightly as he can manage, closes his eyes, breathes, and pulls. To his credit, he doesn’t even flinch as bright magenta blood flows freely again out of the wound, making the awful smell in this room even more pronounced. He drops the bolt on the ground, leaving it at that. 

Kokichi doesn’t have the time or the energy left to care. He has a job to do.

When Kokichi looks up at Kaito, he notices the other man’s looking at him, his hands gripped tight on the book, so tight they’re paling. Intense study, Kokichi presumes, because there’s _no_ other reason to be upset, not right now.

Kokichi’s already dead, they just have to bury him.

“Arm,” Kokichi says, gesturing for Kaito’s own left arm, the one with the crossbow bolt stuck in it. No time like the present. They’ve gotta go, before Kokichi _really_ bites it early. That would be, uh. Bad.

Kaito raises his eyebrows. He bites the inside of his cheek, but turns enough to present his arm to Kokichi. “I can get the one in your back,” he offers, quietly. Kokichi just nods. Kaito will have to, because Kokichi flat-out can’t. Not in his condition.

Kokichi reaches for the bolt in Kaito’s arm, and loud as he can, counts down from three before pulling it out. His touch is a bit gentler with his main hand, but it still probably hurts like a bitch. Kaito hisses in pain, sucking a breath through his teeth. Sorry, Kaito, just the way the cookie crumbles.

After a moment to recover, Kaito sets down the notebook and moves around to Kokichi’s side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to stabilize the both of them. 

With as steady of a touch as he can manage, Kaito grips the shaft of the bolt, and echoes Kokichi’s countdown before pulling it out. Kokichi only really has the energy for a weak groan in response, at this point. Kaito sets it down beside the other two, his hands shaking when he finishes. Not like Kokichi can talk, but that’ll be the asphyxiant, see.

“That's the… fun part done,” Kokichi quips, tone managing to stay wry, despite how weak his voice sounds.

Kaito doesn’t respond. He just… sits there, all grim and brooding. Fuck it. Kokichi doesn’t have _time_ for this. He slowly stands himself up, shaking, trembling, wobbling, and _hating it._ He puts a hand on the wall to steady himself, and then another, staring down at Kaito. “K-Kaito,” he says, voice unsteady, breaths unsteady, “not to make you p, panic… but it’s really hard… to b-breathe…”

Kaito stands as well, reaching out to put his hand on Kokichi’s shoulder again. “Hey, can I ask one last thing?” he says, quietly. “You want to ruin the killing game, sure, but… you kept saying how fun it was, before.”

Kokichi stares up at Kaito, letting all of his tiredness show. Stupid. Idiot. _Moron._ Isn’t it _obvious_ by now? “That was a lie… _obviously…_ h, how could a game… you’re forced to play… ever be… f-fun?” He manages one small smile. “I was just… tricking myself, that's all.”

Kaito looks away, quiet for a long moment. “You…” he trails off. Kokichi isn’t sure what to make of Kaito’s expression, in that moment, but it doesn’t matter, really. As long as he gets the job done, that’s all Kokichi needs now. So, to that end… 

“But, really, Kaito,” Kokichi adds, tone forceful, “the bastards… who made this game… and the _shits_ enjoying it… all of them _piss me off._ So,” his breathing grows labored, his chest heaving unnaturally, “th, th, th, that’s, that’s why, that’s, why,” his eyes start tearing up, from exertion or emotion, even Kokichi doesn't know, “whatever it takes… I-I’m _ending_ this fucking game.”

Wetness spills down from his cheeks, a little at first, and then a lot. Kokichi has way too much on his plate to stop for this, though, so he just stares at Kaito intently, waiting, even as he cries. They’ve _got_ to go.

Kaito looks away again, clearing his throat. “Alright,” he says roughly, after a moment. “Let’s get this over with.”

Don't go soft on him, Kaito. You can’t. Not here, not now. Kokichi couldn’t _take_ it.

Kokichi just nods, turning so Kaito can take him by the back, holding his arms out for Kaito to take, trying his best to stand without the support but truly struggling to.

He’s still crying. He doesn’t really think much of it, not right now. He can’t. He _can’t._ There’s no time, none. He can feel things when he’s dead.

Kaito takes Kokichi’s wrists firmly, and guides Kokichi toward the bathroom door, opens it, and steps out into the hangar. 

Then he lowers Kokichi to the ground, gentle but quick, and starts to drag him across the floor, toward the press. Kokichi hums a little, or tries to, but between the pain of being dragged by his crossbow wound, the convulsions, and the fact that his musical talent is questionable at best, it sounds more like a vague attempt at groaning. He manages to keep his smile up, despite everything, as Kaito uses Kokichi as a makeshift mop, just… for the opposite purpose mops usually see.

It’s fine. This needs to happen. Kokichi needs to fool Monokuma, and the _whole world_ to boot… or what’s left of it, anyways.

Sorry, Gonta.

Eventually, Kaito stops beside the press and helps Kokichi up. “C’mon,” he murmurs, soft, too soft, and something in Kokichi’s chest aches as he leans down to wrap his arm around Kokichi’s waist, as he drapes Kokichi’s arm across his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Kokichi didn’t ask for Kaito to carry him, but… honestly, after the dragging, and after everything else, he needs it. He can’t stand on his own, not really.

Kaito’s slow, careful, deliberate as he guides Kokichi up the steps to the control panel, supporting him every step of the way. He keeps glancing over at Kokichi out of the corner of his eye, almost like he’s checking on him.

Kokichi’s still dying, nothing new here, but… god, his concern aches in a place Kokichi didn’t even know he _had_ still.

Before Kokichi can register it, they’re standing at the panel. The Kokichi of days past set the camera down by the press control panel, and thank god. Kaito releases Kokichi once they’re by the control panel. Kokichi slowly, carefully as he can manage with his goddamn hands, sets it down securely on the tripod nearby the control panel. 

He looks back to Kaito and nods. He’s got to go. They’ve got to go. Kokichi’s going to die. He’s _going to die._

(Kokichi has no time to be weak.)

Kaito works fast, already heading back down to the press. He removes his jacket, spreading it out on the metal platform—sure enough, that bloody sleeve is hanging over the side—and then lays down on top of it. 

“Ready,” Kaito calls out, and on goes the press, on goes the camera.

It moves… slowly. Slowly, slowly, slowly. Kokichi has to pay attention. He has to force himself to pay attention. He has to keep watch, closely, can’t think about anything else, can’t relax, can’t close his eyes, he’s so tired, he can barely stand, even like this, even pressed up against this, he has to let go, he can’t let go, he has a mission, he has to stay alert, he has to—

Fuck.

Kokichi presses both buttons, quickly, too quickly, and the lack of support makes his knees buckle. He crumples to the floor, laying in an awkward position. 

He. _Can’t. Rest._ He _has_ to keep going. He’s not _done_ yet.

Almost… 

… Almost.

…

“Come on,” Kaito says, from far away, and it sounds important, “come on, Kokichi.”

Oh, _oh_ , Kaito’s just. Carrying Kokichi now. Okay! Okay. This is… 

He’s too exhausted to be bothered, even, really. There’s no fight left in Ouma Kokichi.

Kaito sets him down, gently, on the press, and it’s hard, and cold, but the jacket Kaito sets him on… it hurts, laying down on his back _hurts,_ but it’s warm, still. Kokichi thinks, right now, it’s nice to feel warm.

Kokichi closes his eyes for one, _long,_ moment, before he forces them back open, before he takes off his bandana, sits himself up enough to pull off his jacket. That one’s hard. It’s always hard, but especially now, when his hands can barely handle holding it, when his back can barely handle holding _him._

He hands both of them off to Kaito, and that’s it, that’s _it._ That's all he had to do. He can… he can go now. He can rest.

… 

But. _Something,_ somewhere in the back of Kokichi’s mind, is begging him for something. One other thing. He stares at Kaito for a moment, trying to figure it out, before he does, and with it comes surprise.

“Wait,” Kokichi says, his voice weak, barely audible. He tries to clear his throat, but it doesn’t work, of _course_ it doesn’t. “One more…” _that’s_ not the right way to put it. Try again, Kokichi. “C-can I make… one… selfish request?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kaito says, “what is it?”

“Sorry,” Kokichi says, in anticipation of rejection already, “one for… the bucket list. Never… g-g-got the chance to… before now.”

Kokichi doesn’t think he can bring himself to say it, not in words. “Bring your head… closer?” It’s phrased as a question, mostly because Kokichi doesn’t want to assume Kaito’d be okay with this, even knowing Kokichi is going to die at this point, and questions like consent are irrelevant at best. He still can’t bring himself to betray that, despite everything.

It’s kind of stupid.

Kaito looks kind of confused, but he does as Kokichi asks. “Like this?” he asks, his voice soft, looking him over.

Kokichi hums assent. He takes just one single split second of indecision before he closes the distance between them, planting their lips together.

It’s… it’s pretty bad. Kokichi bumps Kaito’s nose, he’s still shaking, obviously, the taste of blood is still on Kaito’s lips, and Kokichi doesn’t know what he’s doing, let alone Kaito, who didn’t even know this was happening.

But.

It was worth it, Kokichi thinks, with what parts of his brain are still keeping function, when Kaito makes a little noise, when his eyes widen and then close, when Kokichi feels Kaito’s hand on his cheek, delicate, far away, when he tilts his face, just before Kokichi’s head drops fully back onto the press. 

Kaito keeps staring at Kokichi with a look he can’t figure out, not here, not now, not ever. Because Kokichi is dying. This is the last chance he’ll get.

All Kokichi can do is look between the hand on his face and Kaito’s eyes for a moment. The words that had been ready to leave his lips were a second sorry, for doing that without asking, for just, for everything, really, but. Something in Kokichi’s brain tells him that, maybe, just maybe, Kaito enjoyed that, too.

“Thank you,” Kokichi breathes out, instead, barely audible.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Kaito whispers, stroking Kokichi’s cheek with his thumb.

Kokichi’s hand reaches for Kaito’s on his cheek, squeezes it with what little strength he has, and pulls it away, letting his arm fall back against the press again. “Don’t have much time.”

… 

And, this time for a different reason, Kokichi finds himself saying, “sorry,” after all.

Kaito turns away. “Me, too,” he says, his voice sounding tight. 

Then he stands, slowly. Moves something, Kokichi’s clothes, out of the way, and walks… away. Kokichi stops caring, at that point. He’s tired. He’s so tired.

A sob rings out, from somewhere far away.

Then the press rumbles above him.

It’s already close. So close, so close. He stares up at it, body shaking, eyes unblinking, because if he closes them he’s not sure how much longer he’ll stay here, and he has to stay, up to the last second.

He can’t leave Harukawa the blackened, can he?

It feels like an eternity, when really it’s probably just ten seconds, if that, Kokichi blinking up at the hydraulic press as it edges closer and closer and closer. Dimly, Kokichi feels like he’s supposed to be afraid of the end.

Ouma closes his eyes and grins, and then, nothing.

* * *

_Kaito, hey!_

_I know we’re not exactly on the… best of terms, after everything, and that’s fine. I earned that. There’s no room for regrets, not after all of this. But I did want to say something._

_Mostly, thank you, for agreeing to this. I don’t know how else this would have ended up in your possession, unless I died brutally in some other way! Which is exciting to think about, if terribly unproductive, so I’ll just hope it's not under those terms. Not that hard to hope for! Killing game’s over, right? ;)_

_There are a couple of important reasons for leaving you with this. Reasons I may not be able to say out loud. [ILLEGIBLE] I need someone else to be playing this part, and not me, for one, important, essential reason. I’m deceit, in people’s eyes. Trickery. Deception. But people get stuck too easily on the little lies, it makes them miss the big ones, or the truths hidden within them. You can walk up to someone and tell them a hard truth, but they won’t believe it, because the lie is safer. It fits more with what they WANT to believe. People will want to believe I’m the killer. That I wouldn’t get someone else to do this. And that’s the key to my lie._

_But... also. [ILLEGIBLE, ILLEGIBLE, ILLEGIBLE] If I’m being honest. Really honest. [ILLEGIBLE] I’m tired of having other people's blood on my hands. I don’t want any more. And I’m sorry that means you had to get mine on yours._

_If it ends this fucking game? It’ll all be worth it._

_Good luck, Ouma. You’ll need it._

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> you can reach me on tumblr at [space-james](https://space-james.tumblr.com/), on my danganronpa sideblog [space-saihara](https://space-saihara.tumblr.com/), or on my twitter [spacesaihara](https://twitter.com/spacesaihara)! (sadly, jim doesn't have any social media, like the boomer they are. smh)


End file.
